Who is this person, anyway?” I shout. We’re standing in a line of roughly a million people. Mostly female. Mostly laughing and squealing with excitement. It almost reminds me of waiting for an audition to get on the set of Dare Me.

Dakota turns her head slowly, then blinks as if I just lapsed into Russian. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re acting like you don’t know just to remind me how much cooler you are than pop culture.”

“I have no time for it,” I say honestly. My eyes seek out and study the parking lot-sized poster hanging from the roof of the arena, draped over the wall. A larger-than-life woman with a microphone in her hand, mouth wide open like she’s in the middle of belting out a long note.

“She really doesn’t ring any bells?” Dakota asks. Her voice is a cross between disbelieving and horrified.

“Sorry.” I look ahead. I don’t know what our stunt is going to be today, but I’m willing to bet it’s going to include some kind of involvement from all these people. I frown trying to think what it could be. What do those sadists want from us this time?

““No,” Dakota decides firmly. “You’ve heard her music. You just don’t know it.”

“If you say so. Why is this damn line not moving an inch?”

“It will once they open the doors, genius.” She rolls her eyes and smirks.

And I just want to grab her and fucking kiss her right there.

“You’ve heard Eva’s songs. I know you have.”

“Oh, my God! Will you let it go?” I laugh and wonder what I did to deserve this impossible woman in my life. “Why does it matter so much to you?”

“Because it seems unnatural.” She shrugs. “What kind of person doesn’t listen to the radio?”

“A person who prefers listening to carefully curated playlists, if you must know.”

“Oh. I should’ve guessed. You have to be in control of what your delicate ears will be subjected to.”

“Why not? I only have so much time in the day for music. I listen while I’m in the car, while I’m working out, and sometimes if I’m working from home.” Probably best to leave out the part of my history when I listened to Nine Inches and dreamed of being a famous drummer in the world’s biggest Alternative rock band. “So when I have the chance, I want to listen to music I love. Is that a crime?”

She shakes her head slowly. “If you don’t listen to new music, you’ll never get to discover new songs to love.”

“Excuse me. Have you heard what passes for music nowadays? I’ll stick to what I know, thanks.”

“You’re such a snob,” she accuses.

“I’m not a snob.”

“Are.”

“You’re really turning this into a kindergarten-level argument.”

“What is your taste anyway?”

“Can we just leave it?”

“Jesus, don’t bite my head off. I was hoping to learn a little more about you. That’s all.”

When she puts it that way, I feel like a dick for pushing back so hard. The line is finally starting to move into the arena, which of course means everybody behind me is screaming their lungs out with excitement. “Alternative rock.”

“Seriously? You like industrial rock?”

I sigh. “What’s wrong now?”

Dakota laughs, waving her arms. “Nothing, nothing, it’s just that I wouldn’t have guessed. Hey, I love alternative rock. Who’s your favorite?”

“Marilyn Manson.” No hesitation.

Her face goes blank. “You’re kidding?”

“Why?”

“Because that’s my most favorite singer of all time. Like, nobody else even comes close.”

I smile. Who’d thought? “Really?”

“Trent, I’ve loved his work my entire life. I have every album. Bootleg concert videos. Books. T-shirts. The whole works.”

“Have you been to see him?”

“Of course. I saw him in Boston, New York, Philly and Baltimore the last time he came through.”

“Now that’s dedication.”

“What can I say? When I love something, nothing’s too much.”

The line has started moving steadily now. I glance at my mobile. No texts yet. We shuffle into the huge stadium. There are ushers directing people towards their seats.

“I can’t believe they got us front-row seats!” Dakota squeals, clapping her hands as an usher escorts us to two seats in the center of the row.

“I guess they can pull all kinds of strings,” I muse, looking around.

Dakota runs her hands over the sweater dress she’s wearing. “I hope I look okay. We might get to meet Eva”

“You think she’s going to care?” I laugh. “You’re not here for her.”

“I’m not here for you either, buster.” She elbows me in the ribs.

I fake a groan of pain then lean down and murmur in her ear, “That’s a shame, because I was about to tell you how sexy you look in that dress. You’ll keep the boots on for later, won’t you?” Her breath catches, and I run my lips over her earlobe before nipping it playfully.

“Not here. What if somebody sees us?” she whispers with a breathless giggle.

“So what if they do?” I ask. Even so, I glance around. One of my greatest worries is if they know we are together and using us against each other when the competition draws to a close. That’s the real threat, and just the sort of thing they would do for their all important ratings.

It’s weird and very unlike me, but I wish we were a normal couple, enjoying a concert together.

She smiles up at me suddenly, an open guileless smile and the wall around my heart crumbles just a little more. I can’t believe how drawn I am to that smile, that voice, that face. That body. I’ve had plenty of bodies attached to boring, silly, immature personalities. She’s different. She’s a game changer.

When my phone buzzes, my heart sinks in response. Another dare is about to start.

It’s not a text from the show though, it’s Eric.

I can’t believe I haven’t thought about him since jumping out of the helicopter yesterday. My brain has been tuned to the Dakota channel for a day and a half.

My heart feels heavy when I send the message. No matter how positive I try to pretend, it’s like somebody or something in the universe wants to remind me of my priorities.

“Everything okay?” Dakota asks with a worried grimace.

I force a smile. “It was personal text. Work. Nothing to do with the show.”

Everything to do with the show. Damn it, couldn’t he have waited a little bit? I don’t need to remember how important it is for me to win. Not when I’m with her and she’s smiling and looking into my eyes with such trust. I guess she knows it’s still a competition. She’s in it for her mother and she won’t forget that—no matter how good the sex is, and it’s pretty damn fantastic sex.

The lights go down and the dull roar which has been filling my ears for a half hour is replaced by ear-piercing, bloodcurdling screams of complete rapture. The roar is deafening. Even the ground feels like it is heaving.

“Jesus!” I yell at Dakota, who’s wearing an ear-to-ear smile.

“No! Not Jesus! Eva!” She points to the stage, where a woman is rising up on a platform surrounded by fog machines and lights. The more we see of her, the louder the shrieking gets until it reaches a fever pitch when the woman herself steps out of silhouette and into the spotlight.

I should’ve brought earplugs.

I have to admit it’s fun seeing Dakota swaying back and forth to the music and belting her heart out. I guess she doesn’t get much time to be young and carefree, so this is nice. I don’t know who’s more entertaining, her or the girl onstage.

I almost miss the buzz of my phone, like a tap on the shoulder reminding me this isn’t all fun and games.